


The New Arrangement

by picturestoproveit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mollstrade, Multi, OT3, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Negotiation, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlollystrade, Sherstrade, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picturestoproveit/pseuds/picturestoproveit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wedding, a broken engagement, a little marijuana, and two gorgeous, emotionally damaged detectives. </p><p>…what has Molly Hooper gotten herself into?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This only took about two months to finally finish. No biggie. 
> 
> Again, a big thanks to Jankmusic for planting the Sherlollystrade seed in my noggin all those months ago.

 The sounds of music and laughter drifted from the reception hall and rolled softly through the picturesque gardens of the quiet countryside inn, floating gently down a set of pristine stone steps, around an elegant fountain, and eventually crawling its way up Molly Hooper's spine, where it promptly took up residence on her last nerve.

Molly grunted in annoyance as she brought the spliff to her lips and inhaled.  A stream of thick, pungent smoke rolled down her throat, singeing her lungs and triggering a round of hearty coughing. She hadn’t smoked marijuana since her days at university, and to say that she was a out of practice was a bit of an understatement.

Molly caught her breath after a few wheezy moments, turning her hazy focus to the joint and watching as tiny embers danced off the tip, carried by the cool evening breeze. She smiled dreamily, choosing to keep her eyes fixed on the burning marijuana cigarette between her fingers, rather than on the ring-free hand that was holding it.

She squirmed in her seat. The smooth granite was suddenly quite palpable through the thin fabric of her cheery yellow dress, its rough coldness stinging her thighs and bum.  She took another quick hit and held her breath, her eyes watering from both the heavy blue smoke, and also from the memory of how she had become so recently…un-engaged.

The bickering had been going on for quite some time. Several months, actually.  Things probably should have come to a head a lot sooner than in the middle of John Watson’s wedding reception. But Molly Hooper wasn’t a quitter. Molly Hooper was determined to make this relationship work.

Molly Hooper had moved on, goddamn it.

She barked out a smoky, bitter laugh. In the end, it was all for nothing. The months and months of steadfast denial. The careful emotional repression. The exhaustive relationship work. It was to all be undone by three glasses of cheap cabernet and one consulting detective in a devastatingly well-tailored tuxedo.

Surprisingly, her engagement hadn’t ended on the spot when she had jabbed Tom in the hand with her dessert fork. Nor had it ended when Molly gave him the cold shoulder during John and Mary’s first dance. Rather, it had ended in the ladies restroom, which is where Molly had stormed off after Tom got a bit too spirited on the dance floor. Not that Molly was shy when it came to dancing, but she drew the line at someone lifting her skirt up and flashing her lacy knickers to a roomful of wedding patrons.

Tom had followed her into the toilets, sputtering apologies and begging for forgiveness, but that hadn’t stopped Molly from ripping the antique diamond from her finger and flushing it down the loo.

It certainly wasn’t the best way to handle the situation. Not by a long shot. But the strain of keeping up pretenses, coupled with the worry she had been feeling since she had watched a dejected Sherlock leave the reception by himself…well, they had placed some significant cracks in her nice-girl façade, to say the least.

 Tom had wisely elected to leave the loo shortly after Molly threatened to rip the paper towel holder off the wall and shove it up his arse sideways.

That was when Mrs. Hudson emerged from the corner stall. Having bourn witness most of the proceedings, the older woman had simply reached into her purse and handed Molly an "herbal soother", squeezing her shoulder with grandmotherly affection before exiting the restroom.

And a soother, it was. At present, Molly certainly didn’t _feel_ like the same woman who had been considering bodily harm against her fiancé only twenty minutes prior. She was so relaxed and vacant, in fact, that she didn’t hear the footsteps on the cobblestones as they approached the fountain.

“Dr. Hooper, don’t tell me I’m going to have to organize a drugs bust at Barts now, too,” a familiar, gravely voice intoned over her shoulder.

Molly squeaked in surprise and leapt to her feet. On instinct, she flicked the joint into the fountain behind her.

“Greg!” she gasped, pressing her hand to her sternum. “Dear lord, you scared me!”

Detective Inspector Lestrade grinned at her devilishly. “Sorry, Molls,” he apologized, his dark eyes twinkling. “Didn’t mean to startle you there.” He took a few more steps until he was out of the shadows fully, coming to a stop about a foot in front of her.

Despite the fact that she had just been caught with a controlled substance by a Scotland Yard detective, had just broken off her engagement at a bloody _wedding_ , and was currently heartsick over a man who would never want her in the way that she wanted him…well, Molly couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate the view a little bit. Greg Lestrade may have been pushing fifty, but dammit if the man didn’t wear it well.

“No- no, it’s um, okay,” Molly stammered nervously. She stared at Greg for a moment before the words came rushing out. “I wasn’t…. Mrs. Hudson… I – I don’t usually do – I know it’s illegal, I’m sorry…” she prattled, trailing off when she realized that, in the end, she really didn’t have a proper explanation as to why she was smoking drugs at John Watson’s wedding.

Greg laughed. “Molly, Molly, Molly,” he grinned. “I was joking. I’m not going to bust the best damn pathologist in London over half a gram of marijuana,” he explained cheerfully, reaching out and squeezing her upper arm. 

Molly relaxed, allowing a dopey and embarrassed grin to grace her delicate features.

“Sorry,” she giggled, feeling more than a little buzzed. “It’s been…it’s been a night,” she explained vaguely. She looked down at her arm, where Greg was still squeezing lightly.

Molly fully expected him release his grip and step away. To her surprise, he did the opposite as he slowly traced his fingers down the length of her arm. He stopped when he reached her wrist, taking her left hand lightly between his calloused fingers.

“Mrs. Hudson told me,” he said softly, as he examined her unadorned ring finger. Molly shivered, gooseflesh prickling up her bare arms, a reflex that Greg noticed immediately, and (incorrectly) attributed to the chilly air. He shrugged out of his gray jacket and draped the fabric around Molly’s tiny shoulders.

In the two years since Sherlock’s fall from the roof of St. Barts, Molly and Greg’s pleasant working relationship had progressed to a comfortable…well, maybe not friendship, exactly. Rather, an acquaintance-hood. They would share the occasional cuppa during Molly’s breaks, or trade stories about their personal lives when Molly would fill in for the medical examiner on a crime scene.

Their conversation was easy, unforced, and the maybe the teensiest bit flirtatious, something that Molly had no qualms about. It was all in good fun, what with Greg being a married man and all, and Molly being in a relationship herself.

And then two things happened, and as fate would have it, those events were within one week of each other: Greg finally left his wife after finding her _in flagrante_ with the headmaster of his son’s school, and Sherlock Holmes rose from the dead.

Molly was terrified to face Greg after the news broke of Sherlock’s return. Despite the frequent derogatory comments Sherlock made about Greg’s intelligence, the inspector was not an idiot. Molly was certain that Greg would immediately figure her role in the consulting detective’s fake suicide, and she was even more certain that he would never forgive her for withholding that information from him. 

So when Greg had strolled into the morgue the next day and enveloped her in a happy, warm hug, the confusion and shock she had felt was completely warranted.  And then he thanked her. _Thanked_ her.  (“What for?” she had asked dumbly. “For saving my life,” he simply replied, before kissing her cheek and sweeping out of the morgue, leaving Molly stunned and speechless.)

The memory of that day in the morgue was front and center in Molly’s mind as she snuggled beneath Greg’s coat, breathing in the clean, masculine scent. It smelled of soap and tobacco and a hint of whiskey, and the warmth it provided slowly crept down her shoulders, prickling her skin before settling low in her abdomen. 

Suddenly, the events of the evening converged and hit her like a ton of bricks: her breakup, Sherlock, the wine, the marijuana. Her previous craving for isolation and solitude evaporated, and was quickly replaced by a new want. 

 _I don’t want to be alone tonight_.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight!” Molly blurted out, and promptly clapped her hand over her mouth, mortified.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, staring at ground. “I shouldn’t have said that…I didn’t mean to say that out loud, actually.”

Greg cleared his throat softly, and Molly looked up, surprised to see that he was now standing mere inches away from her.  He studied her face, and she couldn’t help but notice the twinge of sadness in his dark eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight either,” he said roughly. He slid his hands beneath the coat and rested them lightly on Molly’s waist, pulling her gently against his chest. He searched her eyes again, and Molly saw her own hunger and desperation reflected back at her tenfold.

“I can’t be alone tonight,” Molly whispered, reaching up and tentatively splaying her hands against his shirt.  Greg nodded slightly in agreement, and bent low to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

Molly sighed softly against the inspector’s mouth, her fingers tensing against the cool fabric of his dress shirt. Greg moved his hand slowly until they were resting on either side of her hips, using them to his advantage as he pulled her pelvis flush to his own.

Molly inhaled as she felt Greg harden beneath the layers of fabric between them, and she eagerly parted her lips to deepen the kiss, running the tip of her tongue along Greg’s bottom lip, sliding her hands up from his chest and cupping them around his neck.  She moaned quietly as he accepted her invitation, sliding his tongue against hers, exploring her mouth slowly, carefully. Molly felt him tremble against her chest, and it didn’t take long for her to realize that it was as much from restraint as it was from desire. He was clearly holding back a bit, most likely afraid that he was taking advantage of her. After all, he was nearly fifteen years her senior, newly single, and she _was_ somewhat under the influence of drugs and alcohol.     `

_Well, we can’t have that, Detective Inspector…_

Molly surged her body forward with purpose, aiming to quell his doubts. She wanted this, wanted _him,_ very badly, and she needed him to realize that. _Now._ She worked her hand between the negative space of their bodies, sliding her palm down his torso to the bulge in his trousers, giving his cock a firm squeeze. Greg gasped into Molly’s mouth, rocking his hips against her grip. Molly pulled away slowly, catching his bottom lip between her teeth before kissing her way from his jaw to his ear.

“Did you get a room?” she whispered, grasping the back of his neck tightly as she continued to massage his erection.

“Ah-uh, yeah. Yeah, _yes_.I did,” Greg panted. He dropped his head to Molly’s shoulder and moaned into the crook of her neck, his cock straining against her palm.

“That’s nice, Greg,” Molly answered, nipping his earlobe playfully. “Can you take me there now?”

“Not if you keep that up,” he groaned against her skin, pushing against her grip for emphasis.

Molly giggled and pulled away. She grabbed him by the hand, intending to lead him back up the steps to the inn, but Greg didn’t budge.

Molly stopped and turned to stare at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” she asked, brow furrowed.  She was suddenly flooded with doubt. Had she somehow misread the situation? 

Greg cleared his throat. “Um, I know this isn’t very gentlemanly of me,” he began, grinning sheepishly, “but do you mind if I, um, take my jacket back?” He gestured at his tented trousers. “Just for a bit of cover. “

Molly couldn’t help but let out a relieved chuckle. “Yes, I suppose that would make for an awkward entrance into the ballroom, wouldn’t it? “ she giggled, shrugging out of the coat and handing it over to the inspector.

Greg’s eyes twinkled. “Not the best way to push through a crowd, “ he agreed, folding the coat over his forearm and shielding his arousal. He reached for Molly with his free hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Shall we, Dr. Hooper?” he asked with a smile.

* * *

 

They barely made it through the threshold of room 255 before they were on each other again, lips and tongues crashing together, hands and fingers frantically seeking buttons and zippers.

Greg bent low to nip and suck at Molly’s throat, before spinning her around and pressing her front-first against the foyer wall. Molly gasped as Greg rolled his hips forward, his cock hard and heavy against the cleft of her arse. He bent low to nibble and lick at her nape, with one hand gripping her firmly by the waist, the other working to unzip her dress. He slid both palms up her sides and quickly pushed the yellow floral fabric off of her shoulders.

The dress fell to the floor, leaving Molly in her bra and knickers. Greg wasted no time, guiding her away from her discarded clothing and easing her backwards until she was lying on the bed. 

Molly’s eyes adjusted to the darkness just in time to watch Greg unbutton his cuffs and pull his shirt over his head. He crawled over her body, leaning low to press a heated kiss to her lips before working his way down her torso. He reached for the lace of her bra cups and pulled them down, exposing her breasts to the cool air. Molly gasped as he circled her nipple with the tip of his tongue, teasing the pebbled flesh into a hard peak before taking it all the way into his mouth. She cradled his head tightly as he suckled, arching her back and pushing against the warm wetness of his mouth.

Greg kissed his way over to her other breast and began working it in the same manner, sucking and nibbling without mercy as Molly writhed and moaned beneath his well-toned body.  She threaded her fingers through his silver-gray hair and gently pushed down at the crown of his head, hoping he understood the subtle direction she was giving.

Greg took the hint. He pulled his mouth off her nipple with a loud pop, and trailed his lips and tongue along the smooth planes of her abdomen as he moved down her body and settled between her splayed legs. He reached up and hooked his fingers around the sides of her panties.

Molly sighed and lifted her hips eagerly, ready to assist him in removing the lacy fabric, when suddenly, she heard heard a loud _click._

Molly and Greg froze – she with her arse still lifted off the bed, he with his mouth pressed against the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Molly’s heart thudded in the suddenly thick silence of the room. Before she had time to react, another _click_ echoed through the darkened room, this time accompanied by a flash of dim orange light. Molly stifled a shriek as she snapped her head toward the source of the interruption. Her eyes landed on a figure in the far corner of the room, and at once, she was certain that whatever Mrs. Hudson had given her must have contained far more than just medical- grade cannabis. She had to be hallucinating.

Because there was no way that Sherlock Holmes was in Greg Lestrade’s hotel room. _No way_.

“Sherlock?” Greg gasped as he scrambled to a seated position. Molly’s heart leapt into her throat.

“Oh god, you see him too?” Molly shrieked.  She dropped her arse back to the mattress and instinctively crossed her arms over her naked chest.

Sherlock paid them no mind. He was seated comfortably in the plush corner armchair, his pale features illuminated by the dim light of a cigarette lighter.  He slowly and casually lit the cigarette clamped between his lips, before snapping the lighter closed with one final _click_. The room fell into darkness once again as he exhaled a slow, steady stream of blue-tinged smoke into the air.

“I hope you don’t mind me getting a jump on the obligatory post-coital smoke”, Sherlock drawled in his deep baritone, a hint of mirth in his voice belying his indifferent affect. The tip of the cigarette glowed brightly as he took another drag. He exhaled decadently, clearly savoring his friends’ discomfort. “Of course, you don’t have to wait on my accord,” he continued amiably. “Lestrade, continue whatever it was that you were doing between Molly’s thighs. It sounded like she was quite enjoying it.”

Molly finally broke her stunned silence. “Are you _mad?”_ she asked incredulously. “You expect us to…you want us to…you want to _watch us?”_ Molly sputtered. Despite her shock and embarrassment over being caught in a compromising position with Scotland Yard’s finest ( _by Sherlock Bloody Holmes, no less),_ Molly felt a sharp stab of arousal the instant the words left her mouth.

“Watch? No,” Sherlock replied. He leaned forward out of the shadows, resting his forearms on his thighs. The faint moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminated his features, just enough light for Molly to catch the gleam in his eye and the half-smirk on his face.

 

“I intend to assist.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A modest proposal, and a not-so-modest implementation of said proposal.

Molly blinked slowly. Her heart was practically slamming against her ribcage, it’s rapid beat thundering relentlessly in her ears.

_I intend to assist._

She parted her lips with every intention to offer a proper response, rather than the soft squeak that came out instead.

She closed her mouth.

It was Greg who finally broke the stunned silence. “Sherlock,” he said, sliding off the bed and onto his feet. His was voice wary, yet it carried a hint of warning.

“Greg,” Sherlock echoed, mimicking the inspector’s tone. He took one last drag off of the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. He slowly unfolded his lean frame and stood, taking two very deliberate steps forward until he was chest-to-chest with Greg.

The two men stared at each other. By the light of the moon, Molly studied their expressions. Greg’s face was tense, apprehensive…and…a tad bit guilty? Sherlock, by contrast, simply looked amused.

Molly could only imagine what her own face looked like. Bewildered wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

“Look…I thought you had left,” Greg began anxiously. “I mean…I watched you leave. I figured…”

“You figured you’d have the room to yourself?” Sherlock asked lightly.

Molly didn’t think it was possible for her to be any more stunned than she already was. Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to prove her wrong.

“Wait. Are you two … _together_?” Molly asked, finally finding her voice. She stared at the two detectives with wide eyes. Greg cleared his throat. “Not exactly,” he responded carefully, just as Sherlock replied, “In a manner of speaking.”

“Okay…” Molly said slowly, watching the two men as they continued their face-off.

Sherlock inhaled sharply. “Allow me to clarify, Molly, “ he said coolly, never taking his eyes off of Greg’s face. “Are we in a committed relationship? No. “ He smiled wickedly as he continued. “Are we having quite a lot of sex? Yes.”

Molly’s face burned, recalling a time when she had used those very words in an attempt to make Sherlock uncomfortable. Of course he would find a way to turn them back on her, though she never would have guessed she would be half-naked and sprawled out on hotel linens when that time came.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Right.” She sat up slowly. “Right,” she repeated nervously, her heart sinking. “I’ll just…I’m sorry, I didn’t realize….” Her voice trailed off as both men finally ended their staring contest and turned toward her. “I’ll leave now,” she said lamely, scooting to the left side of the bed, ready to swing her legs to the ground.

“No,” Sherlock replied.

Molly froze. “Um…no?” she echoed. Sherlock huffed impatiently. “Molly, please don’t make me repeat myself, “ he snapped in annoyance.

“Leave her alone, Sherlock,” Greg muttered quietly.

“No, Greg, I’m not going to _leave her alone_ ,” Sherlock replied. Molly could hear the eye-roll in his voice as he continued. “I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, but apparently your lust-addled brains can’t handle logical conversation.” He rounded the bed until he was towering over Molly. She gulped as he reached down and tipped her chin up, allowing that white-hot gaze unrestricted access to her features.

“There’s nothing about this that doesn’t make sense, “ Sherlock began, locking his eyes onto Molly’s. “You have had feelings for me for several years now. Likewise, Lestrade has fancied you for nearly as long, though strict adherence to some ridiculous moral code wouldn’t allow him to ‘make a move’ while he was still married. Which, ironically, is more than his ex-wife can say.” Molly watched from the corner of her eye as Greg flinched, but to his credit, he held his tongue as Sherlock continued. “I, myself, find no need for emotional entanglements, but I do require sexual release now and then. I am physically attracted to both of you, and as fate would have it, you are both currently available.”

Sherlock’s fingers found Molly’s left hand, and he absently stroked her ring finger with his thumb. “Of course, if you aren’t comfortable with the idea of a threesome, Molly, then there will be no hard feelings if you choose leave tonight,” he said, his voice still clinical but his expression slightly softer. He smiled down at her. “However, judging by the way your respiratory rate increased exponentially when I said the word threesome, I think it’s fair to say that you’re at least intrigued by the thought. Am I wrong?” he asked, his innocent tone at odds with the feral glint in his blue eyes.

Molly stared at him, stupefied into silence. Distantly, the voice of Sober Molly screamed inside of her head, telling her to get dressed and go home to her cat.

Her body - heated, flushed, and covered in gooseflesh- strenuously objected to that particular line of thinking. 

Sherlock, apparently, was done waiting for an answer, as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Molly’s breath hitched, and instantly, her doubting mind was silenced. The kiss was soft and careful, restrained, and not at all what she expected. She had presumed, like everyone else, that Sherlock lacked experience with intimacy. She often imagined that kissing him would be lot like snogging a frightened teenager.

She had never been so pleased to be proven so wrong.

Molly sighed against his mouth and parted her lips, returning the kiss with equal gentleness. She brought her hand up to his face and slowly ran her thumb over his cheek, marveling that Sherlock Holmes was capable of such self-control. She opened her mouth wider, cautiously exploring his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and was rewarded with the type of soft gasp that she never expected to hear coming from the icy detective.

Sherlock pulled back from Molly’s lips, panting slightly. He turned and beckoned toward Greg, still shirtless and standing at the foot of the bed. Molly grinned as the inspector shrugged in mock defeat and crawled back onto the mattress, perching himself on his knees next to his two companions.

Without removing his hand from Molly’s nape, Sherlock leaned over and planted a searing kiss on Greg’s mouth. Greg eagerly accepted, threading the fingers of one hand through Sherlock’s dark curls, and resting the other on Molly’s thigh. She gaped at the sight at these two gorgeous men as they leaned over her, pressing against each other with a heated passion that had her practically shaking with arousal. Greg dug his fingers into the soft flesh of Molly’s leg as he moaned against Sherlock’s lips, sweeping his tongue into the younger man’s mouth before catching his lower lip gently between his teeth.

Sherlock groaned and arched his body forward. He was still fully suited up, save for his tuxedo jacket and tie. The contrast of his crisp white shirt and waistcoat pressed tightly against Greg’s toned and tanned skin sent another ache of desire through Molly’s lower half. She was dizzy with lust, and the scent and heat radiating from the two men was positively assailing her senses. Her hand wandered mindlessly between her own legs, and she slowly ran a fingertip up the seam of her knickers, content to simply observe the erotic display that was playing out across her lap while she languidly teased herself into a wet mess.

Sherlock broke away from Greg, and turned slightly toward Molly, looking down briefly and noting her busy fingers with a raised eyebrow, watching as she continued to rub small circles over her mons. “Lestrade, why don’t we start with Molly?” he said, gazing at her through heavy lids, his face flushed. “Out of the three of us, I think she’s had the toughest night,” he continued, tracing her lips with one calloused fingertip.

Molly shuddered against his touch, and removed her hand from her lap. She cradled his face and met his eyes, recalling the mask of pain he wore on the dance floor hours earlier. “I’m not so sure about that,” she offered quietly, her voice shaking with both lust and emotion.

Sherlock’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes flashing with the briefest hint of sentiment. Molly smiled and raised her eyebrows. “I can see you, remember?” she whispered. He swallowed quietly, the bob in his throat nearly imperceptible, and reached for her again, this time claiming her mouth with much more fervor than previously displayed, kissing her deeply and pressing her down to the mattress in one brisk motion.

Molly whimpered and tangled her tongue with his, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in tighter. He adjusted his weight, curling against her side, moving trailing his mouth from her kiss-bruised lips to the sensitive skin beneath her jaw, scraping his teeth gently against the soft flesh before sucking lightly.

She closed her eyes, her breaths coming out in short bursts. Without breaking contact with her throat, Sherlock reached behind his neck with one hand and gently loosened her grasp from his shoulders. She allowed him to guide her onto her back, the momentary loss of body contact resulting in a small, frustrated whine from her throat. She felt Sherlock grin against the delicate skin of her neck before continuing to trail his lips and tongue along her jawline.

Molly was so deeply lost in the sensation of Sherlock’s mouth on her throat, she didn’t register the feeling of her lacy knickers trailing down her legs until they were nearly past her ankles. She lifted her head dazedly, her heavy-lidded eyes drinking in the sight of Greg staring back at her. He shot her a wicked little grin as he freed her from her dampened undergarments, tossing them comically over one shoulder. Molly giggled, then quickly hummed in approval as Greg began kissing his way up the inside of her leg, alternating between chaste pecks and slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses. He reached her center quickly, his warm breath ghosting past her cunt and sending shivers across her abdomen.

Greg nestled between her legs, parting her folds with one careful swipe of his tongue, and Molly gasped and arched into the feather-light touch. Sherlock leaned over and sucked her exposed nipple into his mouth at the exact moment Greg flicked the tip of his tongue across her clit. Their timing was impeccable, as if they had rehearsed beforehand. The dual sensations were overwhelming, and Molly couldn’t help but be slightly self-conscious about the loud shriek that exploded from her throat.

She scrambled for some sort of leverage on the mattress, curling one arm up to cradle Sherlock to her breast, while grasping desperately at Greg’s short silver locks with the shaking fingers of her free hand. Her hips undulated against the firm heat of Greg’s mouth, waves of mounting pleasure coiling and unraveling in perfect rhythm with his ministrations. She moaned, pressing her pelvis towards his face and drawing both knees upward, allowing Greg to paint long, deep stripes up and down the length of her cunt.

Sherlock continued to deliver hard sucks and light bites to the peaks of her breasts, his large palm smoothing down her abdomen and over the back of Greg’s head, where Molly was still desperately grasping at the older man’s hair. Sherlock covered Molly’s hand with his own, and ever so slowly, pushed Greg’s face deeper against her soaking core.

Greg sounded his approval with a muffled groan against her pussy, the vibration of his voice nearly too much to bear against the sensitive throb of her clitoris. Molly arched sharply again, her fingers laced tightly with Sherlock’s and pressing against Greg’s head, her legs beginning to shake as Greg eagerly sucked and licked at every inch of wet flesh.

Sherlock returned his mouth to Molly’s throat and began sucking at her clavicle, the vacuum of his mouth pleasurably painful and sure to leave a mark. He carefully untangled his fingers from Molly’s iron grasp, snaking his hand slowly across her lower abdomen before grasping the back of her upper thigh. He pulled her leg up off the mattress, hooking her knee over his elbow, lewdly spreading her wide open in the process.

Greg moved up slightly and began working her clit in earnest, drawing the sensitive bud between his lips and drawing small circles around it with his flattened tongue. Sherlock took advantage of the slight change in position, sliding his hand beneath the inspector’s jaw and slowly pressing one finger into Molly’s cunt. She cried out, the fullness she felt nearly unbearable, the increase in pressure leaving her teetering on the edge.

“Come for us, Molly, “ Sherlock panted against her ear, sliding another digit into her pussy and hooking his fingers upward.

It proved to be too much. Molly screamed out her release, her orgasm exploding from her center and quickly consuming every inch of her being, her walls pulsing and fluttering as Sherlock continued to curl his fingers and stroke her from the inside out. Her hips rocked and arched high off the bed, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her tremulous body. Greg responded beautifully, easing back to place gentle kisses and licks to her labia as he and Sherlock worked her through the most intense orgasm of her life.

When the last of the tremors and pulses subsided, Molly finally relaxed and fell back into the mattress, dazed. She closed her eyes as her breathing slowly returned to a normal rate. When she opened them again, she couldn’t help but giggle at the two slack-jawed faces that were staring at her expectantly.

“I think it’s safe to say that you boys are wearing far too much clothing,” Molly said, her voice husky from crying out. She propped herself up on her elbows, bending her knees and spreading her legs lasciviously. “Why don’t you two take care of that?” she continued, grinning devilishly. “Go on. I’ll supervise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I'm a lying liar who lies. This one will be three chapters.


End file.
